


Missing Things

by astaria51 (winged)



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Death References, Depression, Disordered Eating, Dysfunctional Family, Fame, Friendship/Love, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, RPF, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-24
Updated: 2006-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged/pseuds/astaria51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Brendon's not fully acquainted with this Ryan, all bone structure and fragility and eyes that aren't so much searching as lost.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written on a plane, weirdly enough; set during the tour with Hush Sound and Dresden Dolls (obviously), shortly after Ryan's father's death.
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own these people, this didn't happen, they shouldn't google themselves etc.

Brendon remembers when Ryan was more boy and less...anime character. It's odd the way things like haircuts and cheekbones can evolve over time, stealthily, and then one day hit you in the face.

It bothers Brendon, this quiet boy with unfamiliar lines and sentences he suddenly can't finish. Words that don't finish his. He tries to shake it off ( _It's just growing up. Touring. Stress. He was always skinny._ ): it leaves only to haunt him at inconvenient moments, interviews or late at night.

Maybe it's his fault. He's been so caught up in the makeup, the performance of it. Has he missed this metamorphosis, round eyes and cheeks transforming into fragile light-bound bones? But it can't just be Brendon's oblivion. There's this mess with Brent, the disaster of the fans vs. The Dresden Dolls. And Ryan's father.

Whatever it is, Brendon's not fully acquainted with this Ryan, all bone structure and fragility and eyes that aren't so much searching as lost. And stupid hair that he can't tell him he hates. He hates all of it. Hates the new long silences and the words he wanted to say after Ryan's father died but didn't.

He wants to grab Ryan by those tiny little wrists and shake him. Yell _Come back_ if only he'd react.

 

"Did you eat?" he asks (a little more brusquely than intended), after the show, and Ryan pauses mid-clothing removal.

"Yes." He frowns and furrows his brow. "Yeah. Of course, I always eat."

It's true that Ryan is somewhat a creature of ritual, but Brendon finds it hard to believe there are any calories at all going into this boy. "It wasn't with me."

"I had Italian," he says, an edge coming into his voice. "Spence was there."

Spencer, across the room, shakes his head and stands up. "That was two days ago, dude," he corrects gently and rubs the back of his neck in consternation.

"Oh." Ryan pulls on a t-shirt. He looks at Spencer. "Where did we eat?"

Spencer shakes his head in _I don't know_. "Me and Jon went to get burgers, remember? You didn't go with us."

Ryan sighs and plays at the hem of his shirt a little. "I don't know. I ate, okay?" He straightens and musses his hair. "Some girls were there and wanted to talk. We took pictures. Ask _them_ what I had."

"Get some chips on the bus," Brendon says; it's not a request.

 

Jon pokes his head into the room. "Hey, bitches, your public awakes." The mood is broken, and Brendon breaks into a grin and throws a t-shirt at Jon, who tosses it back. "I'm serious - I'm dying out here. 'Where's Ryan? Where's Brendon?'" he imitates in a high-pitched whine. "I told them Brendon and Ryan were having mad hot sex and Spence was busy with the videocamera."

"Someone _should_ film that." Spencer grins. "You know, posterity."

Brendon flicks them off and pulls his shirt on. Ryan looks into the mirror at the tree still tracing his jugular, now disappearing into a Clandestine prototype tee. "How do I look?" He rolls his eyes and strides out the door. Into the sea.

 

The crowds are persistent, but not obnoxious. Usual fare: _Can you sign this_ and _can I just take a picture really quick_ with sides of _oh my god_ and _the show was great_. Easy to swallow, even filling (if a bit too much). _Thanks. Thank you. Sure. Hi, what's your name_?

Then it's back to the hotel for a rare night of rest before moving on.

In honor of the occasion, Amanda and Brian have invited everyone back to their room. Ostensibly they're the party hosts because they're chill (it might even be mostly true); in reality they're the only ones old enough to open a minibar. The scene is always weird. A bit like the cool older siblings of your best friends, or like college kids arriving at a high school party: everyone plays "cool" around Amanda and Brian until they get drunk, at which point the _iamnotworthy_ gets palpable and disconcerting.

Spence wanders in and out and calls his girlfriend. He doesn't drink and doesn't really love Brendon and Jon's drunken inanity. He and Ryan generally keep eachother company at these sort of parties, but tonight Ryan is coaxed into joining them. He stretches out on the floor and watches them.

Brendon's a little tipsy after two tiny Jagers, and he says, "You guys, I'm sorry. I mean, the fans. I'm sorry, really. They don't suck this bad all the time."

Greta laughs across the room and says, "Just sometimes."

"Fuck it." Brian's in a forgiving mood, the protective streak he gets onstage lost in easy conversation. "If they can't be assholes at 14, when are they going to?"

Jon grins and they laugh and forge on.

Ryan laughs too, but he looks like he might not be laughing about the same thing.

 

Late that night, Brendon blinks awake to see Ryan sitting at the foot of his bed. He's still a little drunk. In the dark, Ry's ghostly and pale.

 _Porcelain_ , he thinks, _like one of those dolls you never touch because you're too afraid_.

"What's up?" he says,

and Ryan answers, "I'm trying to stop sleeping."

This is a difficult concept when you're both drunk and asleep. _You_ aren't _sleeping. Oh. What?_ Brendon blinks and sits up and says the first thing that comes into his head, which is "That's not the right answer." He puts his feet on the ground and scrubs at his face. "I mean -- why?"

Ryan sighs. "It...I don't like sleeping. I figure things out at night, all those things I can't put together during the day. Lyrics, and thoughts and...who I am. What I mean. I just." Ryan looks at Brendon so earnestly it sort of hurts. "If I go to sleep I'll miss something."

"Ryan, you're being stupid. You're not going to miss anything."

"I am! I'll forget everything I wanted to do. Or something might happen...it's just a big waste of time." Ryan stares him in the face, looking for something - answers? acceptance? Brendon doesn't know. He doesn't know what to do, either. He's used to angsty tangents about love, not existential crises.

He turns Ryan around and pushes him at the opposite bed. "You're scaring me, Ry. Just...maybe you should get some sleep." His shoulderblades are hard and muscular under Brendon's hands; budding wings, protrusions. "It won't be so bad in the morning."

Ryan resists for a moment, then sits on the bed and smiles tightly. "Okay," he says. "You're right." He lies down, lets dark lashes close onto pale skin.

Brendon has the sudden urge to crawl into bed with him like two children afraid of the dark. Instead, he watches him breathe. He's pretty sure the still figure on the opposite bed is wide fucking awake. Brendon stays awake too, afraid that he will sleep, and wake to find Ryan missing.


End file.
